


One word is too often profaned

by plato_rocks



Series: Enola and Sherlock (and Mycroft) [6]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Bathing/Washing, Brotherly Love, Christmas With Family, Dancing, Enola is her own hero, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, No Incest, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Protective big brothers, Sexual Harassment, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock gives Enola a bath, Sibling Love, Tewksbury is the bad guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plato_rocks/pseuds/plato_rocks
Summary: Enola has rejected Tewksbury's marriage proposal and lives happily ever after, sharing a flat in London with her dear brother Sherlock...but is she safe from the young infatuated Viscount's advances after all? To what terrible lengths might Tewksbury go to get what he desires?Takes place after "Our future is up to us" in this series. This is a multi-chapter story, unlike the previous single-chapter pieces in this series.
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Mycroft Holmes, Enola Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Enola Holmes & Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury, Enola Holmes/Mycroft Holmes, Enola Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Series: Enola and Sherlock (and Mycroft) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967290
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> After receiving so many wonderful responses to this "Enola and Sherlock (and Mycroft)" series, I decided to continue writing about Enola, highlighting her strong, platonic, intimate relationship with her brothers and her lack of interest in a romantic relationship with Tewksbury. The previous piece in this series ("Our future is up to us") described Enola turning down Tewksbury's marriage proposal and Tewksbury sadly leaving...but based on reader suggestions, there will be more to Tewksbury than meets the eye...could he actually turn into the VILLAIN of the story? All expressions of affection (cuddling, kissing etc.) portrayed here between the Holmes siblings are strictly platonic and based on familial love; they can be platonically passionate and intimate, but there are absolutely no sexual feelings or acts involved between the Holmes siblings. There are only some mild (not explicit or graphic) descriptions of violence/harassment involving the "bad guys".
> 
> The title of this work comes from this poem by PB Shelley: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45145/to-

Winter creeps upon the mighty heart of London like a stealthy spirit, blanketing the city in frost. Enola Holmes stirs in her chair by the warm fire, engrossed in a novel about a mystery almost as thrilling as her most recent case. Sherlock is late to return home, not unlike many a time before this. She glances at the clock -- 11 pm. She knows he has been busy all day with tying up the Fawcett forgery details at the office of Mr Wembley, the solicitor. But what could be keeping him away so long this time, since he isn't chasing criminals or returning from travel away from London?

As Enola muses over what her brother's possible reasons for his tardiness on this cold night could be, she hears a key turn in the lock. "At last!" she exclaims as Sherlock walks in. "Did everything go all right?"

"Yes, yes," replies Sherlock, removing his coat and shoes. "I would have come back an hour ago, if it were not for Wembley's insistence that I dine with him and his wife tonight. I politely refused at first, but he pressed me so hard to come, saying how grateful he was for my help, that it was impossible to turn down."

Enola smiles to herself, feeling glad that her previously reclusive brother is becoming a bit more social these days. "Well, the forgery matter has been all cleared up, then? You shan't have to spend more time on it next week, right?"

"That's right, sweetie," replies Sherlock, coming over to her and kissing her forehead. His lips, cold from the frosty night air, feel refreshingly soothing on her skin. Enola closes her book and tousles her brother's hair lovingly with one hand.

"Say, Sherlock, how would you feel about accompanying me to the Laurentian Society's Masquerade Ball on Wednesday night? Mrs Demington, the wife of the vice-president of the Society, has sent a special invitation for myself and a plus one because I untangled that little disappearing money problem of hers last month, and succeeded in preventing her crafty housekeeper from absconding with her entire jewel collection in the end. I must say I was about to decline the invitation at first, but then I came to realise that I would actually like to go. I have never been to such an event before, and I daresay we might find ourselves privy to some interesting gossip of high society that could lead us to new cases!"

Sherlock raises his eyebrows in amusement. "A masquerade ball! Now that's a first! But I don't see why not, if you really want to. What will you wear, though?"

"Thank you, Sherlock!" exclaims his sister. "You know, I was thinking of that white dress I have -- the one that looks like a wedding gown. I had bought it when I was investigating the Millingford case last year, and had planned to wear it and pretend I wanted it altered immediately at Miss Millingford's dress shop so I could have a look around there, but as you may recall, there was no need since Miss Millingford's shop assistant literally shoved all the evidence in my face when I interviewed her. So I never got a chance to wear that dress...and I thought that since I have donned a widow's attire many a time before, why not try out a bridal one for once?"

Sherlock laughs, trying to imagine his sister in a bridal dress. For her, he knows it is just another costume, but for most girls her age, it is a lifelong souvenir of their most important rite of passage. Enola is different from the masses, just like he himself is, and that's what makes them perfect for each other. Ever since Enola came back to live with him in London after completing her Oxford degree, she has grown more adorable, more clever, more perfect in every way in his eyes. She is a part of his own soul, whom he loves and cherishes infinitely, and cannot bear to be parted from. "The white dress it is, then," says Sherlock with a grin, leaning down to plant a kiss on his sister's soft rosy lips, looking forward to cuddling with her to sleep under the warm covers on this chilly December night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Enola and Sherlock attend the Masquerade Ball, and are recognised by a certain someone...


	2. Glimpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Enola attend the Laurentian Society's Masquerade Ball and have a delightful time. But among the other guests, is there someone who just cannot keep his eyes off Enola?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to an anonymous commenter on my previous stories for the suggestion of Enola and Sherlock dancing together, with Enola in a white dress!

Enola and Sherlock step out of the carriage and walk arm-in-arm up the stairs to the entrance of the lavish Langham Hotel, where the Laurentian Society's Midwinter Masquerade Ball is being held. Enola is a graceful vision in white, gliding demurely on the arm of her dashing elder brother in a handsome black suit. _I'm carrying myself like such a proper young lady...that wretched Miss Harrison woman would have been highly satisfied,_ thinks Enola, giggling to herself. As they enter, they slip their masks over their faces and make their way to the grand ballroom where a lively waltz is playing, joining the multitude of concealed faces dancing to the music. A masked waiter comes by with a tray of bubbling champagne glasses, and they take a glass each, sipping slowly and looking around the magnificent ballroom with its ornate chandeliers.

"See anyone you recognise, Sherlock?" asks Enola. "I hope to find Mrs Demington, so I can thank her for the invitation and introduce you to her. She would be thrilled to make your acquaintance."

"You know, I think that fellow with the green mask and high collar is Henry Shackleton, the son of the late Sir Ralph Shackleton, former curator of the National Gallery's Renaissance collection. I met Sir Ralph many years ago, when I assisted the National Gallery by foiling a plot to steal Boticelli's _Adoration of the Kings_. I wonder what Sir Henry is up to these days? He isn't a fine art connoisseur as his father was, but I have heard he's got a prospering antique furniture business down in Richmond."

They finish their champagne and look around some more, Sherlock pointing out a few more people he recognises here and there. Enola takes her brother's hand and leads him towards the middle of the ballroom as the musicians start playing a slow, gently flowing tune. Clearing her throat, she says in a mock-lofty voice, "Mr Holmes, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?"

"Why of course, my dear Miss Holmes," replies Sherlock with an awkward laugh, trying to imitate his sister's lofty tone, and clumsily puts an arm round his sister's slender waist as she reaches for his shoulder. _I've never actually danced before!_ he thinks to himself, feeling amused at the situation. He feels a little self-conscious, glancing around to see how other couples are waltzing around, trying to study their choreography in a scientifically-rigorous way, as it were. It's funny, he has wrapped his arms around his little sister's waist innumerable times before, pulling her into his bosom with natural spontaneity at home, but now in the eyes of the public, in a formal social setting, it feels somewhat forced and artificial.

He lets Enola lead, trying to synchronise his steps with hers. After some initial clumsiness and giggling as they try to imitate the other couples, they find a steady rhythm and feel themselves being drawn more and more into the music. And suddenly, they are flowing freely, gracefully, jubilantly. Both of them are caught up in this new exhilaration, enjoying every moment of dancing in each other's arms. Enola forgets that they are in a packed ballroom -- the world seems to be revolving around only her and Sherlock. She feels the thrill of being swept up and twirled around by her brother's strong arms, gliding across the floor like a sprightly gazelle. Her beautiful white dress complements her figure, the voluminous fabric billowing up around her as she dances, making her look like an angel bathed in ethereal splendour. She does not notice a small crowd of onlookers gazing at them, wondering who this lively, elegant couple could be. She does not see one young man in that crowd -- who recognises her and her brother -- clenching his teeth and breathing roughly as he ogles her. She does not see how his face contorts with desire and jealousy.

As the musical number draws to a close, Sherlock and Enola end their dance, feeling exhausted and thrilled as they fall into each other's arms. "That was amazing!" whispers Enola with her head against her brother's chest. Sherlock smiles broadly and gives her a little peck on the forehead.

"Yes it was, my darling. Perhaps you should solve cases for more of the Laurentian Society members so you can be invited to more of these balls," he teases. They make their way to a corner to grab more drinks and food, unaware that they are being followed.

"There's Mrs Demington!" exclaims Enola, recognising a lady in a violet mask not far away from them as she and Sherlock help themselves to raspberry tart. They walk over to her. "Thank you for your kind invitation, Mrs Demington. This is my brother Sherlock. We have been enjoying the ball immensely," says Enola.

"I am delighted to hear it Miss Holmes. And a pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes, sir." responds Mrs Demington graciously. "I have read so much about you in the papers. In fact, I wonder if you -- both of you -- would be so kind as to come to my house tomorrow evening. You see, my next-door neighbour has been acting rather strangely this past week after receiving a certain letter, and when I directly asked her about it she seemed to suddenly become quite afraid and made a hasty excuse to leave. And then, yesterday, she received a visitor in the middle of the night. I am a light sleeper, you see, and was awakened by some loud noises and through my bedroom window saw a dark figure leaving her door. I have not mentioned this to anybody, sir, but I would feel most relieved if you could look into the matter."

"Very well, Mrs Demington," says Sherlock, "I shall be round tomorrow at six o'clock. I am afraid Enola will be occupied tomorrow evening with another case in Reading. She will be departing from Paddington Station in the afternoon."

"Ah, thank you Mr Holmes," replies Mrs Demington. "I shall be most grateful." Enola and Sherlock take leave of her, bidding her a good night, and prepare to leave the Langham and return home to Baker Street after a delightful night at their very first ball.

_Alas, if only they had seen the scheming smirk forming on the masked face of Viscount Irritation, Marquess of Bothersomshire as he clandestinely stood behind them and overheard every word of their conversation with Mrs Demington!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action will pick up speed in the next chapter, when Tewksbury's desire gets the better of him. Some Tewksbury POV coming up as well. (Apologies to all movie Tewksbury fans...he will be the bad guy here! It's only fanfiction, lol.)
> 
> * The Langham Hotel, built between 1863-1865, actually features in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original Sherlock Holmes stories.  
> **The Laurentian Society mentioned here is fictitious and has no connection to the modern-day society of the same name at Trinity College Dublin.


	3. Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tewksbury's desire for Enola gets the better of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rosie_Petal_138 for the suggestion! For those who might not be happy with Tewksbury being the villain here, remember that this Tewksbury is not the exact same guy from the film! This series of fics diverges from the film from the scene where Sherlock and Enola talk under the tree, and none of the subsequent parts of the film leading up to Enola saving Tewksbury happen in this series. In this series, Enola goes to London to live with Sherlock directly instead of running away, and later Mycroft repents and becomes a good brother to her. Here, Tewksbury is just a rich guy that Enola met later as a student at Oxford. Check out my previous stories in this series for the whole background.

James, the Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilwether, was forming a plan. Enola Holmes had rejected his proposal of marriage nearly two years ago. Rejected him! He who was one of the most eligible bachelors in England, whose hand many a young woman would give anything for! Enola was beautiful and clever, and would have made the perfect bride for him. Not a day passed when he did not recall her sparkling eyes, her slender limbs, her rosy lips...and he longed to hold her, caress her, possess her.

Lady Luck had smiled upon him last night at the Laurentian Society’s Midwinter Masquerade Ball. He had seen Enola, waltzing away on the dance floor like a Grecian nymph with that blasted brother of hers! Like a bride in an angelic white dress, she had turned heads at the ball, including his. Unseen by Enola and her brother, he had snuck behind them and overheard their conversation, finding out that Enola would be travelling to Reading from Paddington this afternoon without her brother. The seeds of an audacious scheme had been planted in the jealous Viscount’s mind...what if he were to seize her by force along her route, and show the foolish girl just how irresistible he was? Surely she would not be able to resist his manly charms and would succumb easily when he pressed himself upon her, just as the ancient poets say the lovely Leda and Callisto yielded to mighty Zeus? Yes, that is exactly what he will do...take her to a solitary place and teach her how to love -- _the proper way_. An hour later, with his wallet five hundred pounds lighter, Viscount Tewksbury has enlisted two burly London street ruffians, Horace and Jasper, who will provide most invaluable assistance in his plan.

************************************************************************************************************

Enola hums as she gathers a few belongings into a carpet bag, remembering to pack extra sanitary cloth since she will be returning from Reading directly to Mycroft’s Pall Mall lodgings later tonight instead of to Baker Street, and she does not remember whether she had left enough sanitary cloth there the last time she had stayed over. It is a good thing that this case in Reading will require relatively sedentary efforts on her part, for she has been having cramps since her cycle started in the morning. Kissing Sherlock goodbye, she descends the stairs from their flat and walks out into the cool December afternoon. Though it is only four o’clock, the sun has set and darkness has enveloped the London streets. Enola hails a cab to Paddington station. As she is about to walk onto the platform, she hears a gruff voice behind her. “Excuse me, Miss, could you spare a moment please? There’s a wee lassie hurt and crying in that alley over there. She won’t speak to me or let me go near her. Perhaps she might find you less frightening than me.”

Enola glances at the station clock. She still has a quarter of an hour before the train to Reading is scheduled to depart. She can spare a few minutes to help the poor little girl. “Yes, where is she?” Enola asks, turning to face the brawny-looking man who had addressed her. 

“Right this way, Miss, thank you kindly,” says the man, leading her to a dimly-lit alley. As she follows the stranger into the alley, Enola looks around but sees no one. She is about to open her mouth to ask, when suddenly a heavy blow to the back of her head makes her keel over, involuntarily dropping her bag. What happens next is a blur, as she drifts in and out of consciousness, unable to get up and defend herself. Patches of light and dark flash before her eyes as she feels a rough fabric being stuffed into her mouth and tied painfully round her head. Her eyes are then blindfolded with the same rough cloth. Her hands and legs are tied up brutally and big, muscular arms violently hoist her up, jagged fingernails recklessly scratching and tearing her skin, the stench of sweat and tobacco overwhelming her nose. Enola feels herself being carried and thrown onto a hard surface, and hears the clip-clop of hoofbeats before everything goes completely dark.


	4. Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola has been abducted by Tewksbury's hired ruffians...will she escape unscathed?

James, the Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilwether, is delighted. His plan has gone just as he wished, so far. Enola, bound and gagged by Horace and Jasper, has just been conveyed to a second-storey room of a drab and dingy building -- a derelict, partly-boarded up old inn -- in the grimy East End of London. A glass of a heavy sleeping draught has been forced down her throat for good measure. She is still unconscious, as he observes with relish through the keyhole of the room she is locked in. Having paid Horace and Jasper handsomely for their efforts, Tewksbury has asked them to return the following morning, to continue the "kidnapped-by traffickers" pretence and torment Enola further for a day. Then on the following day, Tewksbury himself will burst into the room to "rescue" her, ensuring that she thinks he is truly her saviour and that she is in his debt.

*********************************************************************

Sherlock Holmes returns to Baker Street from Mrs Demington's neighbour's house in the evening, having set straight the mystery of the neighbour's sudden strange behaviour and the midnight visitor -- a simple blackmail case it was indeed! He prepares himself a light dinner, and peruses the railway timetable as he eats in solitude. _Enola ought to be on the inbound train to London by now_ , he thinks. He thinks about how he might spend his Enola-free weekend, as Mycroft has promised to take her with him to Edinburgh, where he has some official Holyrood business to attend to. _Perhaps I should go home to Ferndell early and spend a few quiet days there with Mother and dear old Mrs Lane, before Enola and Mycroft arrive for Christmas._

_***********************************************************************_

In his little flat in Pall Mall, Mycroft Holmes hears the clock strike midnight. _Shouldn't Enola have arrived by now? Perhaps her case is taking longer than expected, and she is on the very last train of the night._ He doesn't allow himself to worry too much, feeling confident that Enola is more than capable of looking after herself. He leaves a light on in the living room, and retires to bed. Enola has a spare key to his flat, and will surely let herself in and snuggle into his bed when she arrives.

*************************************************************************

Morning dawns, sunlight peeping through the wintry fog onto the London streets. In a drab and dirty room, Enola Holmes awakes with a groan of pain, opening her eyes to blindfolded darkness and trying to turn over. The tight binds are cutting into her mouth, her arms, her legs, hindering her movement and burning her skin if she tries to move. _Where am I? What has happened to me?_ she wonders, thoroughly alarmed and confused (and yes, even growing a bit afraid) to find herself in such a predicament. She feels very sick as well, queasy and nauseous as though she has drunk some foul potion. Slowly, it all comes back to her mind...Paddington station...a big gruff man leading her to a little girl who wasn't there...a throbbing pain at the back of her head. _I have been tricked and kidnapped!_ she realises. As she recollects the events of the previous day, the door creaks open, and she hears the heavy footsteps of a man walking in.

"Oh-ho, so yer awake now, girl!" Enola hears the man say as he approaches her and unties her blindfold. She blinks and sees that this is not the man who deceived her yesterday, but another who is just as burly and grotesque-looking. "Look at ya, girl, you'll fetch a pretty price indeed," he says with an evil leer as he slides a rough hand beneath her skirt and menacingly up her leg. Enola strains feebly against her bonds, longing to kick out, but the thick ropes only dig into her skin more and make her writhe in pain. She feels so tired, completely drained of energy. Her mouth, still gagged, is too sore and dry to scream. The man's filthy fingers grope her thighs and painfully poke and prod the tender region between her legs. "Too bad old Ned Clancy will only buy virgins from me," snarls the man, "otherwise I'd ha' enjoyed ya first myself. But I remember how old Ned spat and cursed in my face that time the French girl I brought him turned out to be unmaidenly. Threatened to ne'er again do business wi' me if I tried to sell him stale meat, he did."

 _Has it really come to this?_ Enola thinks with disgust and agony. _Have I really fallen victim to sex traffickers? But something about this just doesn't add up..._

Enola tries to groan and pull herself up, but to no avail. The man gets tired of fingering her and taunting her after some time, and leaves the room, locking the door and telling her she'll be taken to Ned Clancy tomorrow to be "assessed". Enola forces her mind to think, trying to shake off her weariness. A palpable wetness in her underpants reminds her that her menstrual cloths need changing, and after the man's assaults she feels more unclean than ever. She manages to roll around the room, hands and feet still bound, and inspect the bottom of the door. But there is nothing in the room she might use to force it open, and the window is all boarded up! Little does she know that James, Viscount of Tewksbury is observing her gleefully through the keyhole and commending himself on a plan well executed.

****************************************************************

That same morning, Mycroft Holmes awakes in his own bed in Pall Mall. He turns to his side -- _no Enola!_ With a start he jumps up and looks around his flat. No sign of anyone entering at all! But perhaps there is no cause to worry -- perhaps she returned to Baker Street from Reading after a last-minute change of plans. Putting on his coat and grabbing his stick, Mycroft dashes out to hail a cab to Baker Street.

"Mycroft? What brings you here, brother?" a sleepy Sherlock answers the door.

"Enola -- is she here?" gasps Mycroft.

"Enola! No, didn't she return to your place last night?" asks Sherlock, astonished.

The look on Mycroft's face tells him all he needs to know. "Let us telegram to Reading at once. She was supposed to be on a case at the Wetherby Manor yesterday. And I'll also tell Lestrade to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary in London."

Two anxious hours roll by, and the telegram is answered from Reading: Miss Holmes failed to show up at the appointed time yesterday! "Sherlock, you don't think..." Mycroft's voice trails off, betraying his inner panic.

Sherlock is scanning the morning paper with meticulous detail. "Nothing here," he says sharply, handing it to this elder brother. "Who else knew she was going to Reading and coming back to your flat yesterday?"

"No one, I suppose, except the Wetherbys," replies Mycroft.

Sherlock furrows his brow, deep in thought. "No," he says quietly. "I told Mrs Demington at the masquerade ball that she was leaving from Paddington Station for a case in Reading. What we need is a guest list for the ball, to find out if anyone among the sea of masks might have overheard and taken a malevolent interest. Enola is certainly not one to be caught off guard easily. Anyone wanting to do her harm must have planned well in advance."

So they pay Mrs Demington a visit immediately, and obtain the guest list from her. Sherlock draws a sharp breath as his eyes scan the list, pausing at a certain name. "No!" he says through clenched teeth, handing Mycroft the list and placing his finger on the name that has caught his attention.

****************************************************************

In that dark and dingy room, Enola Holmes spends the rest of her miserable day. The man briefly checks on her once in the evening, thankfully content with observing her only with his eyes and not his hands this time. Trying not to think about her dehydration and hunger and the blood now soaking through her garments and trickling down her thighs, Enola considers her situation point-by-point. _No, something just doesn't make sense! Something just feels unnatural about the way I have been locked up, the way the man has treated me! As though it were all orchestrated specially for me...what trafficking ring would keep its victims all isolated like this for a whole day? And why are there no other sounds outside the door? Why did that man's words have a rehearsed quality to them? Well, the best thing for me is to save my strength and wait until they take me out of this building tomorrow and untie me at the final destination, wherever that might be..._

And with that thought, Enola falls asleep, dreaming of her cosy bed in Baker Street, of the warmth of Sherlock's gentle arms encircling her, and of Mycroft's sweet laughter when she tickles him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enola's harassment at the hands of Tewksbury's henchman was inspired by a scene from The Secret Commonwealth (Volume 2 of The Book of Dust by Philip Pullman). Apologies if it made anyone too uncomfortable. Evil will not triumph in the end, I promise!


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tewksbury comes to "free" Enola...will she manage to flee his amorous advances?

Enola is awoken by the sound of something hitting the door of the room she is held captive in. A moment later, the door is broken in from outside and in walks a young man -- _Tewksbury, of all people!_

“Enola, oh my goodness!” exclaims the young man, “You poor thing! How fortunate it is that I happened to be passing by this place, and saw two men coming out and talking to each other about a girl they had upstairs. I didn’t like the sight of those men, and suspected they were up to some mischief in this old boarded-up inn. So I waited till the men had gone a safe distance away, and then brought some tools and broke in...I cannot believe it is you! Here, let me untie you, then have some water and tell me how this strange misfortune came to pass.”

As he bends down to un-gag her and untie the ropes binding her limbs, Enola is struck by a thought, one that increases her suspicions from the previous day. _What are the chances of Tewksbury just happening to pass by at an opportune moment? Isn’t it all a just too lucky coincidence? How does Tewksbury just happen to have a glass of water with him?_ “Thank you, James,” she says as her mouth is freed. “It is most fortunate for me that you got here.” _I mustn’t betray any suspicion now_ , she thinks to herself. “I was abducted from Paddington. I blacked out from a blow to my head and don’t know anything more.”

“Oh, in the name of heaven!” cries Tewksbury, “I shudder to think what those scoundrels would have done to your beautiful figure.” He slowly loosens the rope tying her hands, relishing the chance to touch her skin. He rubs her arms where the rope has been cutting in, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. He then moves to her legs, unfastening the ropes gradually as he rubs her shins -- _f_ _ar too deliberately_ , thinks Enola with growing disgust. 

Finally, when he has untied her completely, Tewksbury pulls her into his lap. “Dear Enola,” he sighs, “how I have missed you.” He proceeds to uncomfortably fondle her neck and torso, as though to soothe her after her prolonged suffering, but the hunger in his hands does not go unnoticed by Enola. “Oh Enola,” Tewksbury gasps, slowly bringing his face towards hers as he drapes a leg around her, pressing into her with the hard bulge in his trousers. “Will you not be mine?”

The overwhelming disgust in Enola's mind, along with the near-certainty that all of this has been a carefully-orchestrated trick on Tewksbury's part to get her in his power, pumps a surge of adrenaline into her, making her start with a jolt. _Quick! I need to go along with him and get outside if I am to escape! I cannot attack him in this room, for his thugs might be ready nearby._ So, feigning infatuated adoration as best as she can, she takes Tewksbury's face in her hands, holding him some distance from her face. Gazing into his lustful eyes, she says, "Oh my sweetheart James, my dear knight in shining armour! What a fool I was before! Of course I will be yours! But not here, in this dark and dingy hole, my love. Let us hasten to your chambers, and only there may you kiss me and pluck the precious blossom of my maidenhood."

Tewksbury's head is giddy with delight and pride in his manliness. He had not expected Enola to yield so easily! "Yes, my darling," he cries, scooping her into his arms and standing up. "My private carriage awaits not far from here. I shall carry you there and take you home at once!"

As she descends the stairs in Tewksbury's arms, Enola forms a plan. Once they have gone some distance outside the building, she gives a sudden groan. "Ouch, my foot!" she cries, compelling Tewksbury to set her down on the ground to see what the matter can be. In an instant, Enola musters up whatever strength she can and grabs hold of Tewksbury's leg. _Crack!_ Before he can yell out in surprise, Tewksbury has been flipped to the ground by Enola's corkscrew move. His head hits the pavement with a thud, and he passes out immediately.

Enola runs as though possessed by a demon, tearing through the crowds, knocking over fruit stalls. Panting and heaving, blood running down her legs, she presses forward, looking wildly around for where she might shelter. A swift backward glance reveals two burly men in hot pursuit of her. _So my suspicions were right! Those must be Tewksbury's men indeed!_ Suddenly she sees a familiar figure in Scotland Yard uniform standing at the street corner some distance ahead. _Inspector Lestrade!_ She wildly runs towards him, running as she has never run before... _just a few more yards left to cover_...and then she collapses, exhausted from pain, hunger and over-exertion, right in front of the astounded Scotland Yard officer's feet.

What happens next is a hazy blur to Enola. The piercing sound of a whistle...garbled shouts...strong yet gentle arms enfolding her and carrying her into a carriage...a cold compress on her forehead...the familiar tickle of a moustache against her lips...the welcoming aroma of Mrs Hudson's chicken stew and the softness of her own bed in Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is drawing to a close...stay tuned for the final chapter, featuring a warm and fluffy sibling love scene!  
> Happy New Year to all my wonderful readers! May you have a healthy and peaceful 2021 filled with love, kindness and healing.


	6. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola heals in her brothers' care, and justice is served. This is the final chapter of this story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sibling intimacy in the bath scene is purely platonic and is meant to contrast with the rough treatment Enola received thanks to Tewksbury, and also serve as a gentle "parody" of explicitly sexual sibling incest fics about Enola/Sherlock.

Sherlock and Mycroft are overjoyed to have their beloved Enola back home safely at last. After some long, refreshing drinks of water and a large, steaming bowl of Mrs Hudson's delicious chicken stew with homemade bread, she tells them everything -- from her abduction at Paddington to her escape from Tewksbury. Sherlock clenches his fists when he hears about the brutal treatment his sweet sister has undergone in the past two days. _That scoundrel will pay dearly for this!_

In turn, the brothers tell Enola how they tracked her to the East End of London -- how Sherlock suspected foul play from Tewksbury based on the masquerade ball’s guest list, how Mycroft used his government contacts to trace the recent, highly-suspicious sale of a derelict old inn in the East End to Viscount Tewksbury, how they used the help of their trusty old canine friend Toby to sniff out Enola’s scent in a dark alley near Paddington station, how they found her bag tossed away in the bushes not far from the old inn, and how Lestrade and a cohort of officers in a carriage had been immediately dispatched on the route to the old inn that morning, when who should come running but Enola herself -- bruised, dehydrated, collapsing from exhaustion, but alive and breathing nonetheless!

The brothers caress and comfort Enola, wiping away her tears and kissing her swollen lips which are purple and bruised from the tight gag. They assure her that the villain Tewksbury and his accomplices shall be brought to justice once they are caught and summoned to court. Seeing that Enola has been fed and stabilised, Mycroft leaves the flat to go request the chief constable of Scotland Yard to come with him to Baker Street to record Enola’s testimony, for he does not trust Lestrade with the daunting task of charging a man of such high rank and esteem as the Viscount Tewksbury of the House of Lords! 

Sherlock takes Enola into the bathroom. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, darling,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he gently removes all her clothes. He gazes at her naked form with brotherly care and concern, his expert eyes swiftly scanning for signs of injury and trauma. There are many raw cuts and ugly bruises, but fortunately no excessively deep lacerations to be alarmed at -- _my Daphne has brilliantly escaped the clutches of cruel Apollo_ , Sherlock thinks with pride. Tenderly he places her into the tub, before removing his own shirt and trousers (but leaving his undergarments on) and getting into the tub himself. He settles Enola comfortably into his lap and pours lukewarm water over them both.

Sherlock’s hands gently run along her body, lathering her with lightly-fragrant soap, washing away the grime, cleaning her wounds and refreshing her from head to toe. Ever so delicately his fingers work their way from her stomach to the little tuft of hair, matted with dried blood, beneath. He gently rinses and untangles it, delicately making his way with his fingers downwards. Enola feels absolutely safe in her brother's lap. Not invading, not prying, not prodding--but cleansing, soothing, nourishing--with methodical care and respect, her brother’s fingers scrub away the congealed blood, as he lowers his head to inspect her nether regions to ensure that no lasting harm has come to her from the brute’s cruel assaults. He bathes her blood-stained thighs with warm soapy water, restoring her pure skin. When he finishes that part, he gives a little sigh of relief, bringing his palm to rest firmly on her stomach and tilting his head to face her. Enola gazes at him with sisterly love and immense gratitude, her poor swollen lips aching as she smiles... _how many brothers would do what Sherlock has done for her without the slightest cringe of disgust?_ Sherlock presses his own lips to hers, caressing her with infinite love, running his tongue over the bruised corners of her mouth, drinking in her delicious sweetness. Enola feels so safe, so protected, yet so deliciously vulnerable in her brother's arms, finding comfort in feeling completely naked and exposed to his kind, chaste, reassuring touch. Her own dear brother would never hurt her as that rascal Tewksbury tried to! Sherlock unlocks his lips from his sister’s, bringing one hand to cup her breast and the other round her waist, gently moving his legs out from under her to rest her on the surface of the bathtub. He leans into her, gently pushing her down on her back, and claiming her mouth again with his own. She feels his body pressing down on her, and oh how wonderful it is! Warm, intimate and infinitely divine touches sooth and cleanse her body as he runs his hands along her figure, massaging her sore limbs and restoring her energy and strength. Enola reaches a hand up to tangle in her brother's wet curls, revelling in the sweet, familiar taste of his mouth, the reassuring comfort of his manly chest resting against her bosom. They are both covered in soap suds and the moisture on their skin feels ever so cool and refreshing.

"You're safe now, my sweetheart," Sherlock whispers, pressing his cheek to his sister's and sucking on her darling little earlobe. Enola smiles and breathes deeply, relishing the comforting scent of her beloved brother, clasping him in her arms. He kisses her lips once again and rises, pulling her up with him slowly into a seated position to rinse her body and his own thoroughly. When all the soap is washed off, he wraps her in a fluffy white towel and grabs one for himself as well. Stepping out of the tub, he pats his sister dry and slips a freshly-ironed, loose-fitting tunic over her head, and holds out a pair of loose drawers padded with clean sanitary cloth for her to put on. Once Enola is dressed, Sherlock slips on his own shirt and trousers and leads his sister out of the bathroom with an arm around her shoulder. Just then, there is a knock on the door. "That'll be Mycroft with the chief constable, I suppose," says Sherlock as he walks towards the front door.

Enola settles on the bed, feeling exceedingly sleepy and hoping the chief constable's questions won't take long. "That's all right, I'll make sure she is ready," she hears her eldest brother's voice. The next moment, Mycroft walks into the bedroom and scoops her up into a long and passionate kiss. "You stay right here, my love," he says, arranging a warm blanket over her. "Chief Constable Edwards will just ask you a few questions to help pinpoint the descriptions of those thugs who assisted that despicable wretch in hurting you." Mycroft sits down on the bed behind her, drawing her to his chest with his arms around her waist, and calls out, "Sherlock, you can bring Edwards in now."

Enola dutifully describes everything to the chief constable, who carefully notes down her words. “Don’t worry, Miss Holmes,” he says, shaking her hand as he leaves. “I give you my solemn word that we at Scotland Yard will do our utmost to bring your attackers to justice.” Once the chief constable leaves, the brothers tuck Enola into bed so that she may get some much-needed rest. Refusing to allow this abduction incident to prevent her from continuing her work, Enola asks Mycroft to telegram the Wetherby Manor to say she’ll be in Reading tomorrow to look into their case. Afterwards, she will accompany Mycroft to Edinburgh as originally planned (a few days’ delay will not adversely affect Mycroft’s Holyrood business), and then return home with him to Ferndell Hall for Christmas.

**********************************************************************

Having returned to Paddington after solving the Wetherby Manor case in less than half a day, Enola smiles to herself as she travels on the Underground to King’s Cross, where she will meet Mycroft and catch the train to Edinburgh with him. Sure enough, Mycroft is waiting there on the platform, and Inspector Lestrade with him! “Miss Holmes,” says the inspector with a smile, “I am happy to inform you that my colleagues have just arrested two men called Horace and Jasper near Canary Wharf, who were found to have been paid an astonishing five hundred pounds by Viscount Tewksbury for their ‘services’. The Viscount himself is now recovering from a severe concussion at St Bartholomew's Hospital under strict surveillance. He will be arraigned to the Old Bailey next week as soon as he is fit.” Enola graciously thanks him for the good news, and taking Mycroft’s hand, boards the train to Edinburgh.

************************************************************************

Never has a merrier Christmas been spent at Ferndell Hall. Music, laughter and love fill the air as Enola, Sherlock, Mycroft, their mother and Mrs Lane deck the old mansion in festive cheer. Enola and Mycroft team up against Sherlock for an impromptu Christmas morning snowball fight, which ends with the three of them piled up together, rolling boisterously in the snow and covering each other’s faces with frosty kisses.

Just as the flaming Christmas pudding is being served, a telegram arrives from Chief Constable Edwards in London: James, the erstwhile Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilwether, and his henchmen Horace and Jasper have been unanimously found guilty of forceful abduction and physical assault. Tewksbury has been stripped of his titles of nobility and forced to resign his seat in the House of Lords. All three have been sentenced to a ten-year term in Newgate Prison, and Tewksbury’s wealth is to be distributed among the orphanages of London, to provide food and winter clothing for the most poor and hungry children. _What better Christmas present could Enola ask for indeed?_

And so we say goodbye to the Holmes siblings here, leaving them ensconced in the warm glow of true familial love, filled with bliss and nourishment and peace, rejuvenated and eagerly looking forward to a new year filled with prosperity and success!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Also please check out my other Enola stories if you haven't already -- including the previous works in this Enola and Sherlock (and Mycroft) series, and a separate, alternative "one-shot" piece about Enola and Mycroft, called "You are my ward". 
> 
> I’m done with writing for this fandom now. Thank you to my amazing readers for all your comments and suggestions! Hope my stories have brought you some fun. There is a small chance that I might come back to Enola someday (not in the near future though), perhaps if they make a sequel movie that gives me new ideas to pursue. So please do feel free to still give me suggestions, and I will do my best to incorporate them if I do ever get back to writing for this fandom. And I’d love to see others writing about intimate relationships (preferably platonic...but non-platonic is okay too I guess, haha) between the Holmes siblings, so please...surprise me! :) 
> 
> And finally, a very happy new year to everyone! May 2021 be filled with peace and healing and joy.


End file.
